Redemption
by HowlWind
Summary: Saving Sophia was Daryl's chance to save himself. A story on what drive Daryl Dixon. Mature language, will eventually contain spoilers for Season 2.
1. Chapter 1

The children of the apocalypse were something special. They represented all the good things that had been, and the bright future that could still be. It was implicitly understood, then, that the children should be protected at all costs.

It made the loss of Sophia that much harder to deal with.

The survivors weren't giving her up for dead, not by a long shot. But group morale took a dive, as if reality was suddenly staring them all straight in the hairy eyeball. As long as there were children, there was hope for a future for humanity (though what kind of future it would be was yet to be said). It put them one step farther away from the extinction list, which was previously only populated by strange almost unimaginable creatures like stag-moose and wooly mammoth. They aimed to keep it that way. Protect the children, secure a future. It had seemed so cut and dry.

Funny how a day can change things.


	2. Chapter 2

_[Author's note: Italics symbolize a stream of thoughts, whether they're Daryl's or someone else's]_

Getting out of bed was easy- in theory at least. Especially when bed wasn't really a bed, but actually the back of a pickup truck, the ground, or a sleeping bag shoved hastily into a tent shared with too many other people. Sit up, stretch, yawn, swing your legs out to the side, stand up.

Easy, right?

Reality, though… reality is a fucking bitch.

Reality is waking up and hovering (for a split second; not long enough, never long enough) in the dead space between slumber and the waking world, where you still clung to the thought that maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe the world hadn't turned into a whirlwind of death and fear after all.

_Yeah fucking right._

Reality was the grip around your lungs and heart that made it hard to breathe, to exist, when you remembered that the world had ended with a bang. Not a goddamn whimper. The dead weight of lost hope on your chest, uncomfortably reminding you that you were still alive and fighting

_for some fucking reason_

when the lucky ones are enjoying the peace brought on by death. Or undeath. The difference doesn't matter, not to the dead, only to the living.

Reality was remembering that yesterday you shot a man

_what used to be a man, not a man anymore, not even an animal_

through the left eye with a crossbow bolt because he was fixin' to use you and yours as a chew toy. The noise it made, the nauseating wet cantaloupe-dropped-on-concrete SPLAT of grey matter making a hasty exit out of the brain pan that had previously cradled it so reassuringly. The mess it made, the blood that oozed out like cold molasses from the hole when you yanked the bolt back out

_after all you're going to need it later, for another walker, there's always another_

before wiping it on your filthy shirt.

Reality was dirty, and exhausting.

Reality was also a lost girl, alone and scared out in the woods, wondering why no one had found her yet

_oh please no oh please oh shit have they given up please find me please please please_

And so you get out of bed. You swing your fucking legs over the side, one foot to the ground then the other, and you don't take the easy way out

_just go back to sleep to dreams to normal to safety_

because someone has to fight for that little girl. Someone has to find her. You keep breathing. You keep fighting, until you can't fight no more. You owe it to that girl, to the others

_why? because we're all that's left just us and we need to stick together, help each other_

But goddamn, is it a fucking chore to keep existing in this sick new reality.

Reality is a _bitch._


	3. Chapter 3

The rain made things more difficult.

Trailing a kid through the woods of Georgia was already a hard task without the rain washing any trace of her away. A light but constant drizzle, slowly and steadily soaking everything.

Daryl wiped one hand across his eyes to clear his vision, and continued his slow push through the trees.

_Shit._

Since the girl had disappeared yesterday, things had just gone to hell. The women in a panic, the men (Rick especially, of course Rick) feeling more and more helpless and useless as time went by and they couldn't locate one little girl.

_I mean, SHIT. It's not like she coulda gone that far or nothing, a twelve-year-old ain't got that kind of stamina, not scared and cold like she'd be._

And now this damn rain shower. It was like something didn't want them to find Sophia.

Then, just as suddenly as it had began, the rain stopped. The forest was thrown into dead silence again. Daryl stopped in his tracks, and listened. Amazing what you could hear when the world stopped moving- the light dripping sound of rain slipping off the leaves, the rustle of a squirrel flinging itself recklessly through the brush.

All sounds of nature, and none of man (or child).

And so Daryl searched on.


	4. Chapter 4

Carl getting shot threw another wrench in the works. It was utter devastation; to have both children of the group thrown into jeopardy so close together was insanity. It was all you could see in the eyes of the survivors, the grief, the weight of it all. It was suddenly too much to bear.

For most everyone the farm was a welcome blessing. A chance to rest and regroup, care for the injured and let everyone recover mentally. They'd been running since the CDC, and it was exhausting. Finding the farm was also a curse. Letting your guard down like that was just asking for trouble; get too comfortable and when shit hits the fan again (and it will, it always does) you'll be too soft and content to react quickly enough to save your sorry ass.

Not Daryl Dixon. Fuck that shit. He'd come this far, survived this long, seemed a shame to get caught off guard by a geek and die like that.

_Rather go out with a fight, shoot as many a the fuckers as possible, that's what it's gonna end up like. A blaze of fuckin' glory._

So he and Andrea went off in the woods to begin the search again, took off into the dark forest. Daryl would just as soon have gone alone, tell the truth, but it never hurt to have someone watch your back. Too bad it had to be the jumpy blonde girl, but at least she had an edge on her.

_Shit, her sister died in her arms, have to be a fuckin' robot to not let that kinda thing get to you._

Andrea had seen how down and dirty the world was, she understood (at least in some small way) that keeping on your toes was the only way to keep living. Not that she was all that sure living was the thing to do.

Too bad she'd already given up on ever finding Sophia again. Given up on Sophia, and maybe herself.

_That ain't no attitude to have. Giving up before you even begin. That's weak talk, fuckin' pussy ass quittin' talk._

Daryl wasn't the quitting kind. He told Andrea how he got lost when he was even younger than Sophia. He found his way out; took a while, but he found his way. There was a certain camaraderie to it, this walking and talking. Daryl even found himself laughing after a time, following Andrea's cue.

They didn't find anything that night though. Nothing except maybe a little bit better of an understanding of each other. Both of them hung up on lost girls, feeling more than a little lost themselves.

_Ain't that just like humans. Survive the fuckin' apocalypse against all odds, the whole goddamn world dying around you, and you still find time to feel sorry for yourself._


End file.
